


Secret Love

by MurdersintheMorgue



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-05 08:08:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MurdersintheMorgue/pseuds/MurdersintheMorgue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I hid my love when young till I<br/>Couldn't bear the buzzing of a fly;<br/>Jehan knew he could write. And he liked to write.<br/>But it was only when he turned fifteen did he fall for poetry.<br/>I hid my love to my despite<br/>Till I could nor bear to look at light;<br/>Grantaire knew he could draw. It wasn't anything special, just a hobby. He never wanted to pursue it, he always thought he'd end up without money and a drunk if he did.<br/>He was fifteen when somebody told him he should do what he wants and not listen to the world's cruelty.<br/>I dare not gaze upon her face<br/>But left her memory in each place;<br/>Eponine knew she could sing. But she was awkward and shy and lost her voice when someone was looking.<br/>It was when she was fifteen did she meet someone who helped her with her anxiety.</p><p>(or in which Grantaire, Jehan and Eponine are dreamless students and their respected crushes/teachers help them realize what they're missing.<br/>Set in America because I'm too lazy to look stuff up.<br/>WIP!!!!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret Love

**Author's Note:**

> I ACCIDENTALLY POSTED IT AND I'M TOO LAZY SO THE FIRST CHAPTER ISNT FINISHED THIS HAS BEEN A WARNING

Jehan had always liked English.  
Not the subject but the language. He liked to weave words into pictures even though his friend Grantaire tried to convince him that really letters are pictures and so you can't make a picture out of pictures.  
Eventually when they get into these kinds of arguments Eponine would butt in and tell each of them off for being stupid boys and give them a slap over the head.  
They were inseparable, the three of them. Ever since Jehan's mother died and Grantaire's father left and Eponine's parents gave up.  
It was History class of sixth grade when they met.  
History was always Grantaire's favorite subject. He found it fascinating how someone's mistake years ago could be remembered for so long and still looked at through a magnifying glass.  
Everyone always assumed Jehan's favorite subject was English class.  
But it wasn't.  
He liked English, the language, not the subject. He liked to write, but stories, not essays preparing them for test that more often than not don't actually matter in the long run.  
He hated every English teacher he'd ever had.  
Grantaire would argue with his history teachers about things that were wrong, like how that territory wasn't there at that time, or how actually if you look at it from their view this was all okay etc etc.  
Jehan would frown at the lack of literature his English teachers would know.  
"If you're teaching English, you should at least have read some of Shakespeare's sonnets if not all!" He had exclaimed once as the three of them had walked to the bus stop from school. Grantaire hummed in agreement as Eponine, always the one to contradict her friends, would explain to Jehan that just because he had been able to read half of Shakespeare's works by the time he turned eleven didn't mean everyone could.  
"But if you're teaching English you should at least know some Shakespeare! He gave me a fucking B for using a quote from Shakespeare's Sonnet 18 claiming it was too "homosexual" for his taste. What kind of teacher even says that!" He had slammed his forehead into the back of the seat before him as the three squished into one of the gross blue seats.  
Eponine was a musician. She liked to sing the songs Jehan wrote her, slim fingers flitting from fret to fret of the old guitar her two friends had restored for her after nabbing it from someone's driveway. She also went to the music store down the block every Sunday and taught herself to play piano within two weeks, and by the third the nice man at the counter would set aside music he'd found in the back for her to play, smiling and awaiting her arrival. Jehan likes to call her his little sparrow. 

 

The first day of high school, the day of new beginnings, the day of new opportunities, begins with the three of them on the city bus, as it had started every school day since sixth grade. The high school was merely across the street from the middle, and they weren't too nervous, as they had each other and they weren't particularly social people to begin with.  
Jehan shoves Grantaire as the raven haired boy makes kissy lips and smacks them against the boy's cheek jokingly. Jehan makes a grossed out face, sticking out his tongue, although eventually joining Eponine's hysterical laughter, wiping his cheek with the sleeve of his black sweatshirt. Grantaire tugs at one of his friend's short strawberry blonde curls before settling back in his seat, looking smug.  
"Are you guys nervous at all?" Eponine asks suddenly as the bus turns dramatically. Grantaire snorts as Jehan makes a face.  
"Nervous of what?" Grantaire says boldly. Eponine shrugs, blushing and tucking a lock of brown hair behind her ear, and Jehan is suddenly struck with the realization that Eponine has grown gorgeous over the summer, her nose a little button of a thing and her eyes carefully done up with modest make up, freckles from the sun splattering like paint across her tanned cheeks.  
"I don't know like, there are going to be so many people. I don't know if I'm going to be able to deal with that." She mutters the last part, looking at them knowingly. They had found out over the summer when they visited New York City for a couple of days with Grantaire's mother that Eponine has a dramatic fear of large crowds of people she doesn't know. Grantaire pats her head.  
"You'll be fine, my dear. If there's anything to be nervous about, it'll be the fact that we won't be able to keep the boys off you." He punctuates the last part by poking her nose.  
"Or the girls" She retorts with a sly grin. Grantaire laughs, and Jehan smiles helplessly at his two best friends.  
"Or the girls." The wordsmith repeats happily, agreeingly.

 

Jehan never liked any of his English teachers.  
Never.  
Well, never up until now.  
The man standing at the front of the room, with unruly chestnut curls and a giant grin and the nicest green eyes that meet his smile, he couldn't possibly be the English teacher.  
English teachers were old, or loud, or ugly, or a mixture of all three.  
They were uncultured and dull, with boring voices and short tempers.  
Maybe Jehan had walked into the wrong class.  
"Alrighty, so today's that boring day were I tell you all this useless shi- I mean, stuff about myself."  
Some girl at the front giggles at the teacher's slip, and he winks. Jehan huffs, sliding into a seat in the way back.  
"So! My name's Mr.Courfeyrac, but all my friends just call me Courfeyrac, so I guess that's okay too." The man gestures to where his name is written on the board, and nods at a hand that's risen.  
"Is that French?" A girl with blonde hair and wearing a stupid looking dress asks almost annoyingly, and Jehan rolls his eyes, uncapping a pen and started to write useless beginnings of stories that'll never be on his palm.  
"Yeah, but don't ask me to say anything, I hate that." He says, and the girl visibly deflates.  
"Right, so, I studied at Princeton, and I actually have a degree in Mathmatics, but y'know, who likes math. So! I moved here about a year ago, and somehow landed a job at this lovely school. This is my first year teaching, so I hope you'll all be kind."  
Jehan glanced up from his hand to the clock. Only ten minutes had gone by. He turned back to his hand.  
"Why don't some of you tell me about yourselves?"  
Nobody raised their hand. The teacher laughed nervously, leaning his forearms on his desk.  
"No one? Come one. How about you, in the back, giving yourself ink poisoning."  
Jehan glanced up to see everyone's eyes on him. He dropped his hands to his desk.  
"What do you want to know?" He asks timidly, sensitive about all the gazes. The teacher shrugs, and Jehan swallows his frustration.  
"What do you like to do?"  
"Write. Or read. Depends what mood I'm in."  
The man smiles a little, and Jehan's shocked by how attractive he finds the little quirk of lips, one corner hifting just slightly higher than the other.  
"Twinsies." The man laughs, and a girl says something about how teachers shouldn't be allowed to say that, catching the man's attention.  
"Oh? And why not?"  
The girl snorts, and Jehan's eyes snap to her. She's sitting with her boots against the desk, arms folded. She pops her gum, flipping her bangs.  
"Cause it's a disgrace to the English language. You're an English teacher. Shouldn't you hate all these silly shortenings of words or is it still just me. It's hard enough to learn as it is." Her voice is thick with some European accent, and Courfeyrac smiles, looking almost shocked.  
"Well, yes, But it's still fun to say.What's your name?" He grins. "Cosette." She says. "Well Cosette, I think you should throw out your gum." She scoffs and doesn't move. "Shouldn't you go over the curriculum?" Jehan suddenly calls, surprising himself as well as the rest of the class. Those smiling green eyes blink at him, and Jehan feels his stomach clench and his heart flutter. Courfeyrac nods.  
"Right, that's a thing I should probably do."

Eponine grinned as she spotted Jehan making his way to the tree in the front of the school and waved frantically, catching the boy's attention. He smiled painfully and Eponine leaned towards Grantaire, who laid with a book on his face and his hands folded on his chest.  
"I think something happened to Jehan."  
Grantaire hummed.  
"He looks upset."  
Another hum, and Eponine hit his arm, earning a muffled yelp and the raven haired boy sat up ubruptly, peering at Jehan as he joined the group.  
"What's up with you?" Grantaire murmurs as he leans onto Eponine's shoulder. Jehan shrugged.  
"I think I'm in love with the English teacher."  
"Mr.Courfeyrac?" Eponine giggles and Jehan blushes, shrugging. Grantaire gives an approving nod.  
"Yeah, he's hot."  
"Hot? He's gorgeous." Jehan breathes. Eponine pats his orange curls.  
"'S all good man, we'll find you a great boyfriend and you'll forget all about lusting after your teacher."  
Jehan huffs.  
"On another note, I'm in love too." Eponine announces happily, clapping her hands. Grantaire groans and slumps over into Jehan's lap, Eponine hitting him accordingly. "Shut up, it's not like last time."  
"Ha, last time." Grantaire looks up at Jehan, speaking in a high pitched voice, "Oh, I'm so in love with this high schooler! I don't know his name but he's got these beautiful green eyes and-" Eponine slapped him again and he laughed.  
"Shut up! It's a girl this time, and she's so pretty, with blonde hair and blue eyes. And she's French, can you imagine? With this adorable accent and the way she sometimes messes up words and just ugh." She smacks her cheeks, grinning dreamily.  
"Wait, what's her name?"  
"Cosette." The girl breaths.  
Jehan chokes a little.  
"At least we know the name this time." Grantaire snickers, earning himself another slap.  
"She's in my English class." Jehan says softly.  
Both gazes snap to him, and he flushes under their intent attention. Eponine shoves Grantaire out of the ginger's lap, replacing the cynical teenager with herself. She slings an arm around her friend's neck.  
"Tell me everything." She sighs. Grantaire groans and drops the book on his face again.

 

 

Grantaire saunters into his art class, fully aware that he's ten minutes late. The teacher smiles kindly, however, gesturing to a seat beside the most beautiful blonde he's ever seen.  
Well.  
Maybe this won't be so bad.  
"As I was saying, this class isn't that serious, unfortunately. However, if you fail to hand in assignments, you can't switch out until your grade is at least a C. Or take it again."  
She gestures to the boy next to Grantaire with a smirk.

Said boy huffs and crosses his arms.   
"This whole class is a waste of time, there are wars going on out there!" he exclaims. Grantaire snorts, and the boy turns to him, sneering a little. Grantaire's heart leaps to his throat, and he has a hard time breathing.   
The teacher breaks their gaze with a sharp and loud laugh, startling most of the class.   
"Oh my dear, you are such a waste of oxygen." She says, fury hidden behind a kind of sickly false sweetness in her voice.  
Grantaire studies the room as she goes on talking. He reads on the board that her name is Miss.Andrasiunaite, but to just call her Miss And because who the heck can pronounce Andrasiunaite?


End file.
